Activating Ostara & The Language Of Spring

The last remaining remnants of Winter; spring bears the fruit of its promise, and life indeed returns restored. Ostara, Goddess of Spring, reverberates up the spine with a voice reflective of The Cosmic Egg, resurrecting and activating pure potential. She is fertile thought in motion, impregnating Earth and all creation with her reparative wisdom.

For some, the language of spring is experienced predominately through the prism of renewal, tabula rasa (new beginnings), hope, vision, inspiration, creative energy to fruition. For these creatures, a breakthrough of energy is felt comfortably in the body as liberation. Still though, there exists another tribe of thought not often recognized, that struggle with the pressure of potential rising up within their energetic container. I call these The Spring Sensitives; often individuals drawn toward deep transformation whom perhaps react a bit differently to the stretch of their blossom. This is to be seen as an inherently natural response, for early Spring brings with it the impatience of an unfolding future, testing us in the unknown. It is not until later months that the manifestations of Ostara become fully apparent. The days dilate, the sun breeds warmth, day and night dance as equals, and we learn to embrace both the newfound light and the shadows we shook hands with in Winter. Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes and the grass grows by itself. May this Spring be remembered fondly as it leads you gracefully to tomorrow. 

Suggestions for Activating Ostara:

*Build an altar that reflects your personal desires for Spring

*Choose any song that reawakens your cells and dance to it freely for no reason but to honor the body that contains within it the multiverse

*Make a commitment to hydrate your body daily, setting an intention prior to consuming (scientific studies have proven that intention influences the structure of water!)

*Write any remaining resentments on paper and burn them, releasing them back to where they came from

*Recreate order out of chaos (Spring Cleaning)

*Take a chance and try something new (the small delicate sprout would never know its potential if it stayed safe within its seed)

*As without, so within (Flush out toxins by eliminating foods that stress the liver...fried or very fatty foods, sugar and white flour should be eliminated or minimized, processed foods, and foods with chemical preservatives and food coloring. Donʼt overeat. Try eating slowly to give your body time to process and digest.)

xx,

Nostalghia

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The Profound Nature Of Tiny Transformations

We can essentially view the subconscious mind as The Gatekeeper Of Habit; where all patterns cultivated during the early formative years go to root and eventually blossom into the behaviors we display today. Time proves itself worthy in its ability to reinforce through repetition, creating a kind of comfort around these patterns regardless of their positive or negative attributes. Not particularly worried about logic or reason, the subconscious gravitates towards what is known, what is therefore seen as safe. Unfortunately, what is seen as safe to the subconscious is not necessarily safe when analyzed by our conscious awareness. Science suggests that around 88% of our mind is made up of the subconscious, and only a mere 12% is made up of the conscious mind. This leaves us in a strenuous predicament where we are able to consciously acknowledge that a behavior we are exhibiting is harmful, yet for some strange reason, find ourselves invariably under its spell. Almost as though some grandiose puppeteer (The Gatekeeper Of Habit) is having a lively laugh with our limp limbs. Perhaps the key to The Gatekeeper lies in the profound nature of tiny transformations. So tiny, that not even The Gatekeeper itself is aware and furthermore not threatened from its throne of comfort. It’s in the imperceptible, that small stroke of virtue or vice, that leaves in time, an ever so little scar. The small choices, repeated daily, that reveal us. Unravel us. You. Who traveled an infeasible distance to inhabit this sublime body. You, who bear witness to the perpetual loops and patterns of life, death, the planets, the seasons; relieved by the familiar. You, fully equipped to disrupt all paralyzing subconscious pleasures in the name of conscious transcendence.

xx,

Nostalghia

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All contributions to my art are deeply appreciated and valued. Thank you for your continued support. <3

Crack In The System

For many years I struggled to be definable by the limitations of a singular defining thing. Perhaps people thought of me to be dark, so when I wasn't, I felt as though I had betrayed my "self." Perhaps people thought of me to be quiet, so when I had something to say, I felt uncomfortable after having said it. Perhaps people thought of me to be powerful, so when I felt small, I shut myself off from the world. Perhaps people thought of me to be spiritual, so when my energy was fractured, they found themselves confused. It's as though we are always looking for a crack in the system of safety. 

Realistically speaking, never once was I actually betraying my "self." We are ever changing beings in an ever changing universe, of this I am certain. My constant flux was never a dis-order, but rather a natural ebb and flow. The dis-ease lies in our desire for what seems static. Stepping out of the static, forces us to recognize the truth of life as we know it. Perhaps the comfort we seek exists in the acceptance of our many transformations that ultimately lead to yet another transformation, death. 

Some days death scares the shit out of me. Much like I tried to adhere to definable standards (failing miserably mind you!), my mind has tried to define death in some small concise way. Often times keeping me laying awake for hours on end assuming my mind might be able to place it in a comfortable box if I just...give it another few minutes. 

The more time I spend on this earth, the less I feel beholden to my mind for intelligent answers that require depth. Depth is a felt sense, an intuitive wisdom that can't be defined. It is expansive. Much like our true selves. Much like our metamorphic legacy. 

These days I feel much less bound by one way of being. I've tried on many costumes, and I'll try on many more. They all have their purpose. I'm a jester, I'm a saint, I'm a prophet, I'm a sinner, I'm a plant, I'm a raven, I'm a baby bunny, I'm the wind, I'm a lover, I'm a fighter, I'm a bitch, I'm a sweetheart, I'm a loud mouth, I'm a scared cat, I'm a mother, I'm a flower, I'm a...

And really, I'm none of that all. 

xx,

Nostalghia

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Nostalghia - The Cellphone Sessions

Hello all,

I have thousands upon thousands of snippets of songs I've recorded into my phone. I'm no longer afraid of what's raw so I've decided to release some here and there for you all to listen to.

This song in particular is by The Cure. I was drawn to my piano tonight and found myself playing similar chords. Luckily, I had pressed record. Feel free to download.

Enjoy xx

Nostalghia

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WITH WINGS AS MY WEAPON

I walked with the powerful man in the tall, tailored suit. People approached us as though exalted by his serpentine presence. It was the Soho House after all, where the very rich rub elbows with other kinds of very rich, pretending they've built a friendship not made of thin green paper.

Having little to say and a bit bored I muttered  "I've developed a fear of heights"

He stopped to stare at me. It was the first time I saw him as more than just a large suit, and with a reptilian flicker he voiced, "How strange for someone so tall."

Rather abruptly, and without referenced reason, about a year ago I developed a fear of heights. Bridges that I once lay upon like a foraging forest nymph had now become a direct path to my demise. It was almost as though I had lost faith in my own sense of balance. Symbolic, he stood staring back at me, the essence of all that had asked of me to question my equilibrium.

You see, there are many black tailored suits in this town. They feed on the doubtful and they prey on the pure. They count on you harassing your soul and they'll dangle that carrot with mirage until you're drenched in slobber and stuttering. Your insecurity is a prerequisite, for all they can offer you is a temporary band-aid, and perhaps, your very own black tailored suit.

Fortunately, wings do not fit in a suit. Fortunately flying doesn't require earthly balance. Fortunately, imagination has its perks. And fortunately crazy, sometimes, becomes clever.

I've never been plagued by fear to the point of no solution. I transform, and often paralyze the speculative. If I cannot live by the earthly standards, so be it. The mind is malleable, even if sometimes venomous for survivals sake. There is no limit to our sorrows if we refuse our fears the capacity to expand our concept of reality.

After numerous walks across that forest bridge, shutting my eyes to float like an apparition, I can say with certainty, that today, I did not notice the distance of that bridge from the ground. I rose above it alongside my dear friend, imagination.

Fear graces us with opportunity, and opportunity doesn't always demand that you focus on overcoming the fear itself. Sometimes all it requires is a subtle adjustment.

In the city now, I see the bodies as something illusory; hanging suits upon the shoulders of vacuous space. My soul still intact, I step into the light. I blind those who should strengthen their intuition, I deflect those who aren't worth my precious moments.

I wear my wings, as my greatest weapon.

xx,
Nostalghia

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THE MUSE MESSAGE OF THE MOTH

When I began my journey into the maze that is music, much of it was approached with amateur objectivity. I played, just to feel myself playing. I played, because I wanted nothing more than to graze my hands on something asking to be played. I played for the spaces inside me that had no voice. I played for the women inside me, who came before me, who had no choice but to scream through the mouth of a young girl untamed by societal standards. I played to pulp myself of the puppetry, the pain, the people who could never understand. And most of all, I just played.

If you told me then, what I was really doing, I wouldn't have believed you. If you told me then there was method to the madness, a slow reveal, I would have asked you where you placed your medication. If you told me then there was something beyond that 7 ft space piano room I slept in, religiously dedicated to my path of no return, I would have asked that you pass me the digits to your dealer. Unbeknownst to me, a story was unfolding, filled with a richness so true only a lifetime could capture it.

The title for Chrysalis was born through a synergetic conversation with my dear friend and long time collaborator Roy Gnan. It was born from a knowledge well beyond our scope of comprehension, an intuition not yet understood by the masses. Music, the invisible allure, guiding me on the wings of clairvoyance, whispering her sweet nothings into two thirsty ears. Soon, it would become clear, that what I was to embark upon would be nothing short of a life fully lived. A lifetime, of celebrated transformations.

With cocooned wings prevalent in the sonic soundscapes of multiple songs, I too was in a swaddled state. Cloaking myself in white sheer chiffon, drenched in makeup like hell hath fury on my face, I was a girl simply trying to protect herself from the brutalities of this world. For those of you who know the album well, you will recall the song "Stockholm Syndrome," which quite literally is a condition that causes hostages to develop a psychological alliance with their captors as a survival strategy during captivity. A delicate dance of painstaking power. The last -thhhh- of the lyric "Tear those eyes out they'll do no good, shut that red mouth as mother should...Oh Stockholm Syndrome, let's get a room, my sweetest torture, don't die so soon, I lost my fortune, buried my purse, you know you owe me, for what it's worth..." brings you to a soundscape of a moth exiting my mouth, and leads, you as the listener, and me, as the artist, on an existential journey through the moth-like metamorphosis of our lives. A journey I am dedicated to documenting with every grain of my being.

This brings me to the muse message of The Moth.

Moths are nocturnal animals, culturally symbolizing wisdom of the other world, telepathy, and secret knowledge. Because they conduct their life-sustaining activities and practices in complete darkness, they are highly reliant on sensory perception. They navigate the night by using their awareness and inner-knowing. For humans, the moth animal totem is a sign to recognize our own vulnerabilities and utilize our own instincts and intuition, rather than relying solely on the concrete things that we can see in the daylight. Though nocturnal, they are driven towards light, so much so it can end in death. Even when its efforts toward light prove dangerous and futile, the moth continues to drive forward, demonstrating its faith and determination.

As masters of disguise, moths also camouflage as different creatures. The Lunar Hornet Moth has evolved to look just like a hornet, even having similar transparent wings without scales. Knowing hornets sting, predators are likely to avoid it, not realizing it's completely harmless. The Eyed Hawk-moth cleverly combines two tricks. Normally it rests with its camouflaged forewings covering its hind wings and so is difficult to see against bark. But if it is disturbed it suddenly exposes its hind wings to reveal a flash of bright eyes, which are enough to startle a predator and frighten it away.

Rich with symbolism, today, we are nearly finished with our new album IMAGO which quite literally means "the fully developed adult stage of a winged insect." Unveiled now, I embark on womanhood, free from the chains which bound me pre-birth, free from the bullshit that attempted to frighten me back into that precious cocoon. I bring you a woman untethered but still just as impassioned.

It is one of my life paths and greatest joys to bring you on this exploration of the mind, body, and soul. And as long as you tribe with us, I will always give of this gift that was given to me by the ancestors that came before me, and now, come through me.

May we all live with purpose and integrity.

With love,
Nostalghia

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog and want you to have it  for free. if you want to give me some help for the effort, feel free to donate below. Merci! xx

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WORMHOLES OF WORDS

In a world stuffed silly with emoji’s, I still find myself getting lost in wormholes of words. Tiny empty missiles shaped with the heat of perspective, filled with the breath of anima. I rest between awe and frustration that I’ll never truly understand them all. 

I don’t watch tv. I wouldn’t even know how to use a remote at this point. All the pixels could never add up to the visual I get from a blind word. Eroticism exists in a letter that sculpts the universe with imagination and empties the eyes of what never was there to begin with. 

Here’s something I read the other night that I adored. Perhaps it will inspire you as well...

“Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.”

xx,
Nostalghia

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog and want you to have it  for free. if you want to give me some help for the effort, feel free to donate below. Merci! xx

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PICASSO OF YOUR PORTRAIT

I dated someone once who thought it was attention seeking to speak about mental health issues on social media. If you went to his page, you’d have no idea he struggled with a major debilitating illness. It was all cherries and roses.
In my opinion, Imperfections should never be taboo. They are not a sign of weakness nor are they disempowering. They are tangible human qualities that all of us are threaded with. 
Depression does NOT mean you’re incapable. Anxiety does NOT mean your fears forever overtake you. Your momentary instabilities do NOT translate to something as watered down as “crazy.” And your imperfections are the beautiful Picasso of your portrait. Don’t you ask of us to fit inside your definition of sanity so you have some semblance of safety. We refuse. ...I stand for the broken. Each crack bursting with light is worth the fall. And those who rise though weighted by the pain, are that much stronger for having felt the world so deep. 
In the last week I’ve been posting directly from the heart, and the outpouring of love from you all has been really beautiful. We are emotional siphons paving the way for a more compassionate future and I am honored to have you as my fans and friends. Thank you for being a part of my musical journey.

xx,
Nostalghia

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog and want you to have it  for free. if you want to give me some help for the effort, feel free to donate below. Merci! xx

Donate